


Five Things That Never Happened to Ashley Wilkes

by bonibaru



Category: Gone With the Wind - Margaret Mitchell
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, American Civil War, M/M, Male Slash, Missing book scenes, Slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-23
Updated: 2017-09-13
Packaged: 2018-10-09 11:19:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10410993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bonibaru/pseuds/bonibaru
Summary: "My whole life has been nothing more than one cage after another," Ashley said evenly. "This is no different than the rest."





	1. Chapter 1

Act 1: _Open, locks, whoever knocks (iv.I)_

Rhett Butler was the last person that Ashley Wilkes would have expected to see standing on the doorstep of Miss Pitty's house on Christmas Eve.

He hardly recognized the visitor at first, hidden as he was behind an armload of gaily wrapped packages. But there could be no mistaking the rich sound of Rhett's voice as it resonated through the empty house.

"Good afternoon, Major Wilkes!" he said. "I come bearing gifts. Miss Pitty had mentioned a few things she'd like to have, next time I was going to England …"

"Of course, Captain Butler. Here, let me …" Ashley grabbed two boxes from the top of the stack, taking them into the parlor. Rhett followed, carrying the rest.

"I'm surprised to find you here alone," Rhett commented as they put the packages down in a corner of the room. "After two years away in the service of our noble cause, I should have thought the women wouldn't let you out of their sight for five minutes. How ever did you manage to escape their loving ministrations?"

"Uncle Peter drove them over to the hospital with Mrs. Meade and Mrs. Merriweather, to sing carols for the wounded soldiers," Ashley replied. "They asked if I'd like to go along, but I …" he hesitated. It wouldn't be charitable to say that he'd seen more than enough of his share of wounded soldiers. "I don't sing," he said finally.

"I understand," Rhett said, and as he took Rhett's coat and hat Ashley could see that he did indeed understand, and probably even the things Ashley had not said aloud.

The book Ashley had been reading before going to answer the door was lying open next to the armchair he'd been sitting in; Rhett picked it up and turned it over, a worn, leather-bound copy of Macbeth. "Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow, creeps in this petty pace from day to day, to the last syllable of recorded time," he read in a clear, dramatic tone.

"And all our yesterdays have lighted fools the way to dusty death," Ashley finished, pouring two snifters of brandy and offering one to Rhett.

"An interesting choice of reading material," Rhett said genially, putting the book down again and accepting the glass. When Ashley indicated they should sit, he took the sofa so that Ashley could reclaim the armchair. Rhett was not a small man; his chest and shoulders were broad and strong, his legs sturdy and muscular, and the fashionable cut of his suit further emphasized his physical presence. Sprawled across Aunt Pitty's matronly cushions, Rhett made the furniture around him look as though it belonged in a doll's house.

"Are you an admirer of William Shakespeare?" Ashley asked. "You don't strike me as the type of man who would enjoy tales of tragic heroes."

Rhett sipped at his brandy. "Macbeth was no hero. Just an ordinary man, manipulated into evil deeds by the women in his life. If he'd had a little more imagination, or perhaps a spine, things would have turned out differently."

"Then there wouldn't have been anything to write about," Ashley said stonily. But if Rhett noticed his petulant tone, he chose to ignore it.

"Personally, I've always had a soft spot for the noble MacDuff," Rhett drawled, a tell-tale sparkle of mischief starting in his black eyes. "He's willing to fight for Malcolm's kingship, even while grieving for what's become of his country ... Such loyalty! He's a man of unsinkable character. Why, MacDuff even reminds me of so many of our fine county boys, so patriotic in their gray rags -"

"You must not find his character all that attractive," Ashley interrupted, his pride ruffled, "or you would have followed his example, and joined the Confederate army."

"No, no, thank you; I had enough of the military at West Point to last me two lifetimes," Rhett laughed, dismissing the idea with a wave of his hand. "But I see that I've offended you, my gracious host, and that was not my intention in calling here. I apologize for my inappropriate jocularity." He fixed Ashley with a steady gaze, fingers playing across the sides of his brandy glass. "So, tell me truly, Major Wilkes. How are things on the field of battle these days?"

Ashley could not hide a slight frown. It was common knowledge that Rhett's success as a blockade runner was due to some high-ranking contacts in the Yankee navy. He didn't want to go into any detail about the Confederate war effort if he could help it, but his upbringing wouldn't let him be rude to a guest by dodging the question altogether.

"We've been stationed in Virginia these last few weeks," he said at last. "We have many good men." He hoped the words didn't sound as hollow when spoken aloud as they felt in his heart. "Their spirits are strong and they believe in what we're fighting for. By spring, we'll surely have -"

"None of that," Rhett said sharply, sitting forward. His keen eyes searched Ashley's face. "All this week you've been talking lies, no doubt, so as not to frighten the women. But I won't play along with you. The Yankees are buying troops by the boatful from Europe, when the Confederates can't keep their men decently fed. By spring you'll be lucky to still be as far north as Virginia. I know things are bad, and I'm asking you to tell me, without embellishment, just how bad they really are."

"I'm surprised to hear that you have any interest at all in the situation, Captain," Ashley replied coolly. "I thought you were only interested in pocketing as much money as possible from the death throes of the Confederacy."

Rhett did not answer right away, to Ashley's surprise; he swirled the brandy in his glass and looked thoughtful. "Money's all that war is really about," he said finally. "It wouldn't be in the best interest of any government to throw away so many resources and lives otherwise. That's how wars have always gone: there's profit to be made in destruction, and even more in rebirth; power to be had for the greedy and the manipulative, and those with the foresight to seize it however they can. War's a dirty business, but it's a business nonetheless." He shrugged. "I'm a businessman. I do what I have to do in order to survive."

The two men sat drinking quietly for few moments, with only the ticking of the mantle clock to break the silence. Try as he might, Ashley could find no rebuttal to counter Rhett's perceptive remarks. In his heart, Ashley knew the Confederacy was doomed, that going to war had been a huge mistake. Too many people had suffered or been needlessly killed trying to save a way of life that had been all but lost when the first shot was fired. Ashley thought it was a terrible waste, and it looked as though Rhett, ever the realist, felt the same way.

It should have been a relief to discover that here was someone Ashley could speak to openly about his fears. He had said as much in his letters home to Melanie, wistfully dreaming of days long past, expressing his great feelings of loss and betrayal, knowing that she would never reveal his traitorous thoughts to anyone. But Melanie never had much of consequence to say in return; to her, war was not a matter for women to discuss. She wrote of her love for him, her longing for his safe return, her faith in his strength and her hopes that they would someday have children and a family of their own. While her words were warm and comforting, how Ashley had longed to have a deeper conversation about his despair with someone he could trust! And here now was a person who would be unafraid to talk with Ashley on that level, a man with opinions that seemed to match his own and who could see things in a much broader perspective.

Had it been anyone else, someone he could have faith in, Ashley might have unburdened his conscience at that moment, and talked about how he really felt about the war and the Confederacy's cause. If anyone might understand, and not simply sputter in proud Southern outrage, it was Rhett Butler. But Ashley knew that Rhett would not hesitate to exploit any man's weakness to his full advantage once he had found it, so instead he said nothing, and to his great relief Rhett also seemed disinclined to continue that line of conversation.

Finally, Rhett set his empty glass down on the table. "I'm sure you've had enough of this war talk by now anyway, and I see the hour grows late, so I'll get to the point. I didn't come here just to bring gifts for the ladies. I have something for you, too." From his pocket Rhett produced a small ivory-colored card made out of heavy paper, and he handed it to Ashley. Written on the card in a fine hand, in black ink, was an address in Richmond.

"This is where I can be reached when I'm not at the hotel here in Atlanta," Rhett said. "Someone at this address will always know where to find me. As I'm sure you know, I have access to many useful and necessary things - items that can be extremely difficult for the average person to acquire these days. If there's ever anything that you need, I want you to contact me right away."

Ashley was on his feet quickly, nearly knocking the almost-forgotten book to the floor, his hands trembling with indignation. "Captain Butler," he said firmly. "I must protest."

Rhett stood also, but much more slowly, rising to his feet with panther-like grace. He looked down at the younger man, but there was no trace of mockery on his face. He placed a strong hand on Ashley's shoulder. "If you really must, then go ahead, but the offer stands. Despite how you feel about my patriotism - or lack of - I mean what I've said and I won't take it back. If you ever need anything, anything at all, send word and I'll do whatever I can for you. Don't worry about the cost - we can work out whatever you believe is fair. I'm not exactly headed for the poorhouse, but I wouldn't insult you by offering charity. You may think my ill-gotten gains beneath your pride to accept, but we all have to survive, dear lad. You forget I've lived in Virginia; I know the winters are merciless, and must be as cold as hell to you Georgians. You're no good to anyone if you come back too starved to stand on your legs; you couldn't even pick cotton with your hands frozen off."

"I don't understand," Ashley said, flushing with confusion. "In all the time I've known you, Rhett, I've never seen you give anything to anyone without expecting something in return."

Rhett smiled wryly, but his expression was otherwise inscrutable. "Ah, you question the honorability of my intentions! Well then, allow me to explain - you see, Mrs. Wilkes," he emphasized, taking his hand away from Ashley's shoulder and moving to gather up his things, "has always been much more generous to me than I have ever deserved. She has defended me when I was indefensible, and received my company in her home when no other decent family in Atlanta would allow even my shadow to darken their doorstep. I may never be able to repay the kindness she has shown me, but I do at least try to make good on my debts. If the best I can do is keep her fool of a husband alive in spite of himself - then that's what I shall offer. If you won't keep the card, I'll give it to your wife. Between the two of you, I generally think she's the one with the better sense anyway."

While Ashley stood gaping at that, Rhett touched the brim of his hat and turned toward the door. "Don't worry," he said. "I can see myself out."

Ashley followed him to the door. He still didn't know what to think, but he kept the card, gripping it tightly in his fingers, watching Rhett stroll down the walk. When Rhett reached the gate, he turned back and waved.

"Merry Christmas, Major Wilkes," he called, "and give my best to your family."


	2. The Bell Invites Me

_Act II: The bell invites me (ii.I)_

_January 15, 1864_

_Morton's Ford, Virginia_

_Dear Captain Butler,_

_I am compelled to write to you and extend my thanks for your kindness in calling on me when I was in Atlanta. It is always pleasant to sit and talk with old friends; so much more so when surrounded by the comforts of home. How easy it is, at those times, to forget the dirty business of war._

_At present our battalion is still in Virginia, camped on the Rapidan River at a place called Morton's Ford. As I recall from our conversation, you may be personally familiar with this area. It is indeed as lovely as you said. You were also right about the winters in Virginia; the snow here is deep and the nights are very cold. We have need of so many things: most especially Cornmeal, Bacon, and basic medical supplies. How I wish that I could somehow procure these necessities for our men. Speculators have driven the prices of food so high in the Shenandoah Valley that it is difficult to find what we need even though we do have the Means by which to pay for it._

_I shall look forward to seeing you again when next I come to Atlanta; I hope that not too much time shall pass before then. I am interested in hearing more of your thoughts on Macbeth._

_Most Sincerely,_

_Major George Ashley Wilkes, C.S.A._

_***_

_January 23, 1864_

_The Walker House, Petersburg, Virginia_

_My Dear Major Wilkes,_

_I am pleased to inform you that your letter arrived just in time yesterday as I was preparing to leave Richmond. Fate must certainly be on your side, as I would otherwise not have received your correspondence for several more weeks. There are some business matters I have to attend to here in Petersburg and elsewhere. To be delayed of the opportunity to read such a heartfelt missive would have wounded me deeply!_

_Your memory of our conversation is correct. I am quite familiar with the area in which you are wintering. In fact, if you wish to enjoy a bit of local color during your stay in this fair State, a longtime associate of mine owns a vineyard in Andersonville, approx. 10 miles South of where you are. The vineyard is not very active with winemaking in the winter, but the door is always open to visitors. I am sure it would please my friend greatly if such a gentleman as you were to call on him. I shall write to him immediately after finishing this letter, so that he may anticipate your coming. The first Sunday of the month is generally the best day to call._

_I, too, look forward to continuing our conversation. All my best to Mrs. Wilkes,_

_Rhett K. Butler_

***

"I don't think we should take the horses inside," Ashley shouted, trying to be heard over the howling wind. He wanted to tighten the ropes that were holding the tarpaulin over the bed of the wagon, but the knots were frozen solid - he would have to leave it as it was, and trust that everything would hold through the storm. He knew Rhett had accepted far less than a speculator's normal price in payment for these goods, but even so the meager amount of money he had managed to scrape together from the troops had barely purchased enough food and medicine to get them through the rest of the winter. Still, he knew they would be far better off than many others in the coming weeks.

"It's not fit out here for man or beast! God isn't going to mind," Rhett shouted back, unhitching the draft horse from the wagon and forcing his way forward through the knee-deep snow and up the stairs of the little church. The front door opened easily when Rhett thrust his wide shoulders against it, and horse and man disappeared inside. Rhett's insistence on making the journey back from Andersonville with him - having two men in a wagon made it less likely to be a target of thieves - had been an unexpected boon for Ashley. It had been nice to have someone to talk with on the ride, someone that wasn't a soldier just waiting to be killed or sent home, wondering if his girl had found another beau, wondering if his father had been able to get the crops in without help. Rhett was full of exciting news from all over the south, all over the world in fact, and the journey had been a pleasant one until the weather took a bad turn in the late afternoon.

Ashley looked behind him for a moment - the path they had made through the snow was already drifting over, and the heavily falling snow showed no sign of abating. The sudden Nor'Easters, as the locals called them, were unpredictable and could be deadly if a man was caught out too far from shelter. And nightfall was coming on fast. It still felt wrong to take animals into a church, blizzard or no blizzard, but he knew Rhett was right. He unhitched Rhett's horse from the back of the wagon and led it inside.

Rhett stood just within the entryway, stamping the snow from his boots. He looked up as Ashley came in. "It's been a long time since I went to church on a Sunday," he said dryly. "I half expect the whole place to come down around our ears."

Even in the dim light, Ashley could see the place was abandoned. It smelled of dust; there were no candles at the alter, and no hymnals among the pews, some of which were overturned. He brushed a cobweb away from the door frame. "Let's see if there's a rectory attached - it might have a fireplace."

***

There was indeed a small living area in the back of the church, a cozy little room with a fireplace, a water basin, a writing desk and chair, and the remnants of what had probably been a sleeping cot. They were able to put together a decent fire using what was left of the absent parson's small store of wood, keeping the door closed to trap the heat in the room, and they had a fairly nice meal of smoked pork, dried apples and bread from Rhett's saddlebag. They had nothing to spare for the horses, but they melted snow in the water basin and left it for them right outside the door of the room.

As night fell, Ashley lay on the worn hearthrug with arms outstretched, the tips of his fingers almost brushing the outside of Rhett's thigh. Rhett sat warming his back against the stone of the hearth as he puffed on a cigar, idly blowing the smoke up the chimney. The wind continued to blow outside the thin walls, shaking the building with sudden gusts, but Ashley hardly noticed. Between the fire, the meal, and the dusty bottle of wine they'd scavenged from the parson's desk, he felt pleasantly warm and drowsy-eyed for the first time in many weeks.

He tipped the bottle up to drink the last drops, but Rhett snatched the empty vessel from his hands.

"Major Wilkes, I believe you're drunk. Spending time with me seems to be having a negative influence on your character. You should be more careful."

"I'm not worried," Ashley murmured. His tongue felt thick around the words, but there was a soothing glow in his belly. He looked at Rhett's upside-down face and grinned lazily. Somewhere on the other side of the door, one of the horses sneezed.

"Shouldn't you be?" Rhett asked in a teasing tone, tossing the stub of his cigar into the fireplace, his black eyes glittering in the firelight. "I'm a wicked, wicked man."

" _By the pricking of my thumbs,_ " Ashley began, but started laughing before he could finish.

Rhett laughed too, shifting closer, leaning toward him. "Don't say I didn't warn you," he smirked. And then just like that, his mouth was on Ashley's, in a dizzying kiss that was tart with the taste of tobacco and stolen wine.

When Ashley was six years old, he'd gone fishing with the Tarleton boys, and Brent, play-fighting, had accidentally knocked him into the pond. He could still remember the shock of it, the sensation of being underwater, how the liquid had rushed into his ears and dulled all sound to a thickened roar. His eyes had been open, but the light slanting down through the murky green water hadn't helped him get his bearings, and for a few terrifying seconds he thought he would drown. He clung tightly to his fishing pole, the only solid thing in the world, until Jim Tarleton had pulled him out by the feet, choking and gasping for breath.

Now, he was drowning again, and the only thing he could cling to was the body of the man pressing against him. _What the hell are you doing_ , Ashley tried to say, but it came out as a moan that Rhett swallowed with his open mouth. Rhett must have taken that as positive encouragement, because he shifted around quickly, still kissing Ashley, so that they lay side by side.

As Rhett's lips and then his tongue continued their exploration of his mouth, and the wine buzzed pleasantly around in his bloodstream, Ashley tugged at buttons until he could slide his hand inside Rhett's shirt. He brushed his hand over Rhett's ribcage, and was startled when he felt something strange there. He pulled away, half sitting up, tugging the shirt open as far as he could. Rhett laughed at him; Rhett had surely been laughing at him the whole time, but at the moment, Ashley was genuinely too drunk to care.

A raised white scar traveled across Rhett's ribs in a fluid line and then turned down toward his muscular abdomen. A memory came fleetingly to Ashley's clouded mind, idle gossip from years ago: knife fight, California, gold fields, nearly died. He heard the sharp intake of Rhett's breath as he lightly traced the length of the scar with curious fingers. It was fascinating, exotic. _The way to dusty death._ It made Rhett - tall, muscular, and seemingly impenetrable -suddenly appear as fragile as the rest of mankind. He felt the rippling of muscles under his hands as Rhett failed to suppress a shudder. And he noticed that Rhett wasn't laughing any more.

Swearing softly, Rhett pulled him back down for another kiss, this one deeper and more insistent, drawing the breath out of his lungs until he thought he might faint. Then Ashley was flat on his back again, writhing inside his skin like a thousand snakes as Rhett's teeth scraped against the stubble on his throat. He was taller than Ashley and heavier, stronger. Ashley couldn't breathe, and raised his hands to push him off, but Rhett grabbed his wrists and held them still, pressed firmly against the floor.

Ashley's mind whispered _danger, danger_ as he lay pinned to the floor, and indeed, Rhett Butler was a dangerous man. As tricky as a cat; one minute purring softly by the fireplace, the next sinking sharp teeth into the breast of a screaming songbird.

Now it was Rhett's turn to tug at the buttons of Ashley's shirt. He let go of Ashley's wrists to tear aside the newspaper that had been stuffed inside to keep the wind off of his skin. His mouth burned a hot trail down Ashley's bare chest, the whiskers of his black mustache tickling along the ridge of muscles criss-crossing Ashley's lean belly, to the waistline of his breeches which were now coming undone under Rhett's strong fingers. But when Ashely tensed at this intrusion, Rhett paused, coiled like a spring, and waited.

Ashley lay very still for a moment with his eyes closed and thought that maybe he should fight Rhett. He should say no, stop before things went any farther. But he now had Rhett's full attention, and he knew that once that was upon him, it wasn't something he could ever fully escape.

As a soldier, Ashley was no stranger to the things that men could do with one another. Some of the rougher men under his command told jokes and stories that would have made even the most jaded whore turn bright red with embarrassment. Ashley himself had heard muffled groans and scuffling sounds occasionally coming from the tents after the lights went out.

It wasn't as if he didn't understand the reasons why such things happened. These were young men, far from their wives and their pastors, tense before battle, the smell of death hanging over them heavy in the air like a sickening fog. They might seek a physical release from that fear, looking for distraction in each other's bodies. Ashley had always turned away from that path, preferring to write letters or read alone in his tent until sleep overtook him. But sometimes, he would settle his own hand between his legs and thrust quietly into his own palm until he climaxed, letting the anxiety and tension drain away for just a few moments of lonely peace.

Ashley knew that if he opened his eyes and looked up he would see that the snow had ended and the moonlight was shining through the stained glass windows, the ones which told the story of Lazarus. Lazarus who had died, was dead for four days; Jesus had raised him, awakening dead flesh through the power of His will, calling his name and touching Lazarus' hand, touching him …

There was no danger, no impending death in the church where they lay, silent except for their ragged breaths and the occasional snap of the fire. There was nothing but warmth and wine, skin on skin, seeking lips and hard fingers. There was only Ashley Wilkes and Rhett Butler and the clear glass eyes of Lazarus, looking down upon them, holy, accusing.

He kept his eyes closed, and by way of acquiescence, laid his hand gently on the back of Rhett's tousled black head.

Ashley gasped as the heat of Rhett's mouth enveloped him, bit his swollen lips to keep from crying out as his body surged shamelessly in response. Melanie had never touched him like this, would never dream of touching him like this. She always pulled the sheets up to her neck and blushed shyly as he came to their bed, and he always put out the light for her, and oh God he couldn't think of his wife. He didn't want to see her face or remember how soft and white her skin was, now, in the midst of his betrayal. His head rolled back, spinning faster with heat and wine and desire and the ache of need, and he clung to the edge of control or maybe it was just the edge of the hearthrug with shaking fingers while his back arched and he failed to hold back the whimpering sounds that tore from his throat.

Rhett's strong hand was on his hip, guiding him, holding him fast as his bones melted like snow. The fire was hot, too hot, but Rhett's touch was hotter as the other hand moved to ruck up the hem of Ashley's shirt and slide across his sweat-slicked chest to brush across his nipples. The added sensation was overwhelming, and Ashley cried out as he spasmed into Rhett's mouth. Shame flooded through him, mixed with the exquisite pleasure, but Rhett did not move away, swallowing everything down with a pleased hum.

Ashley lay panting for a moment, all of his nerves tingling as Rhett crawled up to rest beside him again. Ashley looked over at the older man as he lay there, stretched out on his back, eyes closed, head pillowed on top of his crossed arms. He could see the bulge at the front of Rhett's breeches, and although he had very little experience in these matters, he felt as though perhaps it would be proper, in this kind of situation, for a gentleman to reciprocate.

He sat up slightly, leaned over and began to undo the fastenings of Rhett's pants with one hand. At this, Rhett's eyes snapped open, and his stare was penetrating.

"That isn't necessary," he drawled. "I took advantage of your inebriated state, and you were gentleman enough to allow it. Despite your general opinion of me, I don't expect anything in return."

Ashley didn't know what to say to that, and anyway he couldn't tell if Rhett was being serious or sarcastic, so he said nothing. Instead he took firm hold of Rhett's erection and began to stroke up and down the length of it with his hand, the way he would have done to his own. Rhett's breathing quickened, and he made no further protest, so Ashley kept right on going with even, rhythmic strokes. Rhett began to move his hips slightly in the same rhythm, pushing gently up to meet his hand. It wasn't long before Rhett went completely still, groaning softly as he spilled hot and sticky and wet all over Ashley's hand.

They remained still for a moment, then Ashley withdrew his hand, wiping it dry on the discarded newspaper that lay nearby. When he turned back, Rhett had fastened up his clothes and rolled over on his side, his breathing slow and even. Relieved that there would be no awkward conversation, Ashley too lay down and quickly drifted off to sleep.

***

Morning brought with it a dull ache in Ashley's head that threatened to ruin an otherwise perfectly good night's rest. He lay still as long as he could, fighting off wakefulness until the stamping of a horse nearby brought with it the sudden memory of exactly where he was, and exactly what he had been doing before falling asleep.

Ashley opened his eyes with some trepidation, but the floor next to him was empty. He got up slowly, so as not to make the ache in his head any worse, and made his way to one of the small windows behind the desk. The morning sky was clear after the previous day's storm, the sun bright and blinding on the hard white surface of the snow. To his surprise, he saw several curls of smoke rising above the trees, coming from someplace not too far distant. It must be the Confederate encampment, he realized with a start. They had spent the night only a mile or so from where they had been going in the first place.

A noise from behind made him turn around. Rhett was standing by the door, pulling on his heavy black overcoat. When he spoke, he looked boldly into Ashley's eyes, and gave no indication that he felt any of the nervousness or shame that was coursing through every one of Ashley's veins.

"I thought it would be rude to leave before you woke up," he said casually. "But I've got four days to get back to Richmond, and this snow isn't going to lend me any speed. I trust you can find your own way from here." He gave Ashley a little mock bow as he opened the door. " _The bell invites me,_ " he said, and then in a swirl of dark wool, he was gone.

Ashley waited until the sounds of Rhett's horse had faded into the distance before sitting down and putting his head in his hands. Later, he very carefully avoided looking up at the stained glass windows as he packed up, hitched the horse to the wagon and set out for the army camp.

It wasn't until that afternoon, as he was helping unload boxes of supplies from the wagon, that Ashley noticed where Rhett's fingers had pressed bruises into the skin of his wrists. He pulled the cuffs of his gloves down over them and pretended they didn't exist. And if, over the next day or two, any of the other men noticed their Major's new habit of worrying absentmindedly at his sleeves, at least they didn't mention it.

A few days later Ashley rode out on a scouting mission, and didn't come back.


	3. Lay On, MacDuff

_Act III: Lay on, MacDuff (v.VIII)_

"Wilkes," a gruff voice said. Ashley looked up as the cell door slid open and a grizzled, blue-coated guard motioned to him with a baton. "Step out. You have a visitor."

Ashley frowned. He was certain that no one in his family knew he was being held at Rock Island - he doubted they even knew he was alive, in fact. He couldn't imagine who would be visiting him. But it was an order and not a request, so he rose silently and followed the guard along the dark, narrow corridor between cells to a small room at the far end of the floor.

This, he suspected, was the interrogation room. Since his arrival at the prison Ashley had seen at least half a dozen of his fellow Confederate officers brought there. Hours later they came back out bloodied, broken and sometimes unconscious. The Yankee guards would half-drag, half-carry the beaten men right past his cell as they took them away - maybe to the infirmary, maybe back to their cells, maybe out to be shot - he didn't know where. For a moment Ashley felt the cold clench of fear in his belly - was there really a visitor or was it his turn to be tortured? But when door opened he immediately recognized the person waiting inside.

Rhett Butler looked at him closely, but if he noticed how gaunt Ashley was, how pale and dirty, it did not show on his face. Rhett looked as suave as usual; his linen suit was finely cut, clean and well tailored, and the slim line of his jacket made him seem taller than ever. His shirt was open at the collar, just enough to show a glimpse of bronzed skin at the hollow of his throat. Stepping forward he extended his hand to Ashley as if they had just run into each other at a society banquet instead of a Yankee war prison.

"Major Wilkes," Rhett said. He smiled, his white teeth gleaming sharply. "How nice to see you still in one piece."

The Yankee guard moved between them and pushed Rhett's hand aside. "Fifteen minutes, Butler, no more," he grunted. "And mind he'll be searched after you leave, so don't be having any ideas." Then he walked out, closing the door behind him. A metallic echo resonated down the corridor as the deadbolt clicked into place. The room suddenly seemed much smaller to Ashley, now that the other man was gone.

"I guess I'll have to forego slipping you a file," Rhett said. "That is, if I had brought one in the first place."

Ashley did not laugh at the joke. While it was a great relief to discover that someone from his life knew that he was alive and knew where he was, it was terribly unnerving to have that person be Rhett. The last time they had seen each other - no, he wouldn't think of it now. He schooled his features into what he hoped was a neutral expression, one that would not reveal the confusion and conflict he was feeling.

"How did you know where to find me?" Ashley asked, moving slowly around to the opposite side of the rectangular table that, along with four chairs, represented all of the furniture in the room.

"I have many friends," Rhett said nonchalantly. "Some of them are in conveniently high places and owe me some very useful favors. All things considered, you were relatively easy to find. If you had been killed things would have been much more difficult."

"Does my wife know?"

"She doesn't yet, but I'm going directly back to Atlanta from here and I intend to go straight to Peachtree Street and tell her in person. She's been wearing herself out trying to get news of you." Rhett crossed his arms and leaned against the table. "I did want to make sure you were the real George Ashley Wilkes first, not an imposter, before getting her hopes up. It wouldn't be good for a woman in her condition to go through too much excitement."

Ashley looked at him. "What do you mean, in her condition?"

"I mean you're going to be a father, Ashley. Congratulations! I had brought you a very expensive cigar to celebrate, but I'm afraid they confiscated it at the gate." Rhett held his hands out, palms upward, in an apologetic gesture.

Ashley was stunned. A baby … He sat down heavily on the nearest chair, grasping the edge of the table with both hands to steady himself. Rhett, ever the cynic, had certainly been right to be careful. Melanie was so delicate, and so small … worry pooled in his stomach. The doctor had warned them about Melanie trying to have children. But it was too late for that now. A baby!

Rhett crossed his arms against his chest again but still didn't move to sit down. "I'm sorry I can't give you more time to absorb the good news, but they won't let me stay that long. Tell me truthfully, are you being treated well?"

Ashley blinked, tried to focus on what Rhett was asking. "Well enough," he replied. "We do get plenty of fresh water. They give us hot bricks wrapped in flannel on the very cold nights." What could he really say about the eternal dampness, the half-rotted food, how pneumonia and typhoid leapt from cell to cell like a wildfire blazing through drought-ridden pines? There was no reason for anyone to know how bad things really were; if Melanie were to find out it would just worry her even more.

"You were listed as wounded on the federal roster," Rhett prodded.

"It was nothing," Ashley said, looking steadily at the swirling grain of the wooden tabletop. "It's already healed."

"All the same, let's see if we can shorten your stay."

Ashley looked up quickly, wondering what Rhett could mean. Was he really so influential that he could get Ashley exchanged, or pardoned?

"I know what happens to a man in a place like this," Rhett said evenly. "What food they serve you has no redeeming value, there are never enough blankets, and you're exposed to every sickness men can carry. Most of the prisoners in here will leave in a pine box. You've almost got a better chance of making it on the front lines than in a war prison."

"You're right, but what can be done about it? They say that Lincoln has refused any further exchanges of prisoners."

"Yes, the Yankee government thinks that the war will end faster if the Confederates go broke trying to feed prisoners when they can't even feed themselves. But there is a way out of here, and I've been given permission to present it to you if you're willing to listen."

Ashley sat forward. "Go on."

"There's been a lot of trouble of late with Indians in the frontier territories," Rhett said. "Settlers are being burned out of their homesteads. Men killed, women and children taken captive, fighting breaking out in several places. But the army doesn't have soldiers to spare for these problems since almost everyone is down in Virginia chasing after General Lee and friends. So they're offering a deal to some of the Confederate prisoners who are able-bodied enough to carry a rifle. Enlist for Indian service for two years, and they'll release you and send you out West to fight."

There was something not quite right, Ashley thought, as he absorbed what Rhett was saying. While speaking, Rhett studied his fingernails with a calm air of detached boredom, but Ashley could see that the line of his shoulders was unusually tense. A casual observer might have been fooled, but Ashley could tell that Rhett was nervous. It could just have been that they didn't have much time left, but it put Ashley on his guard.

"Two years is quite a big investment," he countered. "The war's likely to be over sooner than that and then I can go home anyway. Why should I fight Indians for the Yankees when it's them I ought to be fighting?"

"You're assuming you'll survive the next six months in this hell-hole," Rhett said, his mouth twisting. "And you'll be saving innocent lives. Think of the women and children captured, terrified, dragged away from their homes in the night! Who knows what fate awaits them at the hands of those savages … it's a terrible injustice, one you'd be helping to right."

Ashley shook his head slowly. "I don't know," he said.

Rhett glanced toward the door, lowering his voice. "I know it seems like a long time. But think about this - you don't have to complete the whole service. You could always take the Oath, start out West, and desert as soon as you get the chance. They won't have the men to spare for chasing you. Then you head back home, as quick as you can."

Ashley suddenly felt cold all over. So that was what Rhett had been holding back! And now he had let it slip. In order to get out of prison Ashley would have to betray everything he had spent the last two years fighting for by signing the Oath of Allegiance to the Union. Signing the Oath would mean swearing on his honor that he had never been disloyal to the Union, had never taken up arms to defend the Confederacy, or ever believed in what it stood for. That would be a lie, down to the very core of his being. How could he ever look his wife in the eyes again after such disloyalty? She would never forgive him for it - he could never forgive himself!

Rhett was looking at him intently. "I won't take the Oath," Ashley said firmly. "You're out of your mind to even suggest it. I won't betray my country in such an unthinkable way. I have a duty to -"

"You have a duty to your _family_ , Ashley," Rhett interrupted, standing up straighter, his eyebrow arching in surprise. "They need you now more than ever. I'm simply offering you the one chance you have to be with them again. I can't believe you would rather stay here, penned up in a stinking cage -"

"My whole life has been nothing more than one cage after another," Ashley said evenly. "This is no different than the rest."

"Horseshit," Rhett swore, moving swiftly around the table to stand in front of him. "Any cage you think you've been living in, you've only locked yourself into - because it was easier to hide there than to face reality." His expression turned cynical, taunting. "She's made a complete mess of your plans, hasn't she?"

Ashley crossed his arms and frowned. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said, but Rhett slammed his hand down on the table suddenly; Ashley jumped, startled.

"Oh yes, you do. You might be able to fool yourself but you don't fool me," Rhett sneered, leaning in close. "You couldn't wait to join the army because it was easier to escape Scarlett by running off to war than to stay and face the trouble her 'confession' would have brought upon you. Because you do want her, despite your noble protestations to the contrary, and you know she'd never let you have a moment's peace about it."

Ashley hadn't forgotten that painful day at the Twelve Oaks barbecue. After Charles Hamilton's outburst, he'd gone in search of Rhett but found Scarlett in the library instead. He'd fled soon after, but he'd been close enough to hear her raise her voice to someone and slam the door hard as she stormed off. When he went back into the library he'd found a laughing Rhett standing over the shattered remnants of a china bowl. Ashley had known then that his guest must have been in the room the whole time Scarlett had been pouring out her heart, but thankfully, Rhett had never mentioned it again. To have it brought up so callously now made him angry. And hadn't Rhett been pursuing Scarlett himself these last few years? He was in no position to judge anyone else.

"You are out of line, sir," Ashley said in a low voice, looking up at Rhett defiantly.

Rhett's swarthy face mocked him. "My poor, dear Ashley. How difficult it must be, trying to reconcile your honor with your covetousness. You deeply want something that you can't have, and you can't bear the guilt it brings upon you - so much so that you think it will take a prison sentence to finally ease your conscience!"

"I have done nothing I need feel guilty about," Ashley retorted, but he could feel his cheeks turning crimson. He hoped Rhett would think he was angry over the hard words. But a different set of memories had sprung unbidden to his mind, memories of firelight and wine and the feel of Rhett's mouth on his own ... a greater sin even than covetousness, an abomination in the eyes of the Lord … he was flooded once more with the familiar feelings of desire, and shame. He did want Scarlett, it was true; she was beautiful and fiery and passionate, all the things that Ashley was not. But Rhett was like her in so many ways, cruel one minute and kind the next, charismatic and sensual - trying to make sense of it all just made Ashley even more uncertain of everything.

But Rhett was leaning in still closer, and didn't seem to notice his discomfiture. His eyes were suddenly earnest, his expression more open. "That's because you mistake the guilt for something else. You think fear has been driving you all this time, fear of your own desires, fear of the consequences if you aren't strong enough to resist your own longing." All trace of mockery had disappeared. "But you're made of sterner stuff than that, my friend. Ashley Wilkes is no coward. You aren't truly afraid of Scarlett, any more than you're truly afraid of me. And you can't use this cage to hide from either one of us."

Rhett was now leaning so close to him, Ashley could feel the heat rising from his skin. There was a flicker deep in his dark eyes, flaring for just an instant as Ashley looked into them.

"Come _home_ , Ashley," he said, more gently than Ashley had ever heard him speak before. "Guilt has no place in a noble heart. Take the Oath, forgive yourself, and come home where you are needed."

For a moment they stayed perfectly still, Ashley seated at the table, Rhett leaning over him. And then Ashley looked down at the floor. Rhett's gaze, the secret light in his eyes, was too intense for him to bear. Ashley could never be any less than who he was, and he was not an oathbreaker, no matter what else Rhett might ask of him.

"I can't," he said, all the anger draining from him. "I can't. How could I face Melanie with such a stain on my honor … she believes in me, and in all the things we've been fighting for. I can't betray her faith in me. I'm sorry."

When he looked up again, Rhett was standing up straight, staring silently past him at a spot on the wall. His lips were pressed into a thin white line beneath his mustache, the only indication that he had even heard what Ashley said. He turned his back and paced slowly to the opposite side of the room, where he stood for a few more moments, perfectly still.

When he finally spoke again, gone was the softness, the cordiality. In its place was a diamond-hard bitterness. "Play the Roman fool, if you must." He turned around again, but did not look at Ashley; instead he fixed his gaze upon the door. "I thought you would put your family above your ridiculous honor for once. Let your child be born fatherless, to a mother so weak of a broken heart she'll probably die before he draws his first breath - if she lives even that long."

"Of course you wouldn't believe -" Ashley began, but those hard black eyes turned sharply upon him and he fell silent. Rhett Butler might clothe himself in finery, Ashley thought; he could appear sleek and harmless when it suited him. But underneath the smooth outer skin, he was still just as feral as ever.

"Stay here until you rot, if it will cleanse your tortured soul," Rhett said. "Purge yourself of sin and shame with your humble suffering. Die with your honor intact, for the glory of the great and holy cause, coughing your lungs out with fever in a pool of your own filth. It's a nobler end by far, than for you to break an oath you never believed in from the start."

He crossed the room in three swift strides and rapped sharply on the door.

"Don't worry, I'll think of something to tell them in Atlanta that might make some kind of sense. Scarlett and I will look after Mrs. Wilkes," Rhett said. "That should be fun, don't you think?"

"Rhett," Ashley said quietly. "I won't ask you to try and understand how I feel, but my honor is all that I have left. Without that, there would be no Ashley Wilkes."

"That's a shame, then," Rhett said coolly, "because it means absolutely nothing to anyone else."

The bolt of the door clanged as it slid out of place, and then Rhett was gone.

As the days of his incarceration passed, Ashley noticed that he usually had a blanket of his own when many of the other prisoners had to share, and that he was always put on light work detail instead of the much riskier jobs, like infirmary duty. He was also harassed less often by the guards than the other Confederate officers were. He knew it had to be Rhett's lingering influence at work, although he also knew Rhett would never have admitted it.

Once, when he had fallen ill with typhoid and he lay in the throes of fever, weak and delirious, drenched with sweat, he imagined Rhett was beside his bed looking down with a pale and anxious face, yelling at the infirmary staff to bring more water.

But it couldn't have really been Rhett, he thought later, because Ashley had clearly made his choice, and Rhett was never coming back.


	4. Come What Come May

_Act 4: Come what come may_

The stillness of the chill March night was broken only by the harsh breathing of Frank Kennedy behind him as Ashley urged the horse forward. He'd lost his pistol when the Yankees sprung their trap and the shooting started, but unlike Frank he'd been able to hang on to his mount. The poor animal was struggling to keep going at such a hard pace with two men on its back. Ashley didn't think they could get off the road to escape; under the trees the underbrush was thick, and it would be hard going for the horse in the dark.

A warning shout from close behind them told Ashley that the Yankee officer was gaining ground. There was no alternative, he thought grimly; they would have to try their luck in the woods.

"Hold on!" Ashley shouted over his shoulder, gathering up the reins. But a sudden sharp crack startled him. The horse stumbled as Frank jerked and fell sideways. Frank's arms tugged at him sharply and Ashley fell too, rolling to the side of the road just in time to avoid being trampled under flying hooves.

Frank lay face down on the road, white robes twisted around his body. He did not move at all. Ashley could see a dark stain spreading quickly across the dirt where Frank lay. The full moon was just bright enough to show that the side of Frank's head was … _Oh no_ , Ashley thought, stricken to the heart. Not Frank! He crawled quickly to Frank's side and felt for a pulse at the neck, but there was no flutter under his fingers. And then the Yankee was there, his horse skidding wildly to a stop and throwing a shower of dust and pebbles over them. He pointed his revolver at Ashley as he swung down from the saddle.

"Get on your feet!"

Ashley rose slowly, keeping his hands open and held out at his sides. Though his mind was racing, he willed himself to remain outwardly calm, letting his military training take over. He had to stay alert, find a way to escape - there would be time for grief later if he managed to get out of this alive.

"I'm not armed," he said.

"I don't care," the Yankee snarled. "You don't need to be armed for me to kill you right now. You were evading arrest. Step away from that man!"

"He's dead," Ashley said, but he moved two paces back. The Yankee walked over to Frank and prodded him with the toe of his boot. "So he is," he said. "That was a damned lucky shot."

Ashley said nothing. He stood still and tense, feeling his pulse pounding in his throat.

"I know you," the Yankee said, peering at him more closely in the moonlight. "You're Wilkes, aren't you - you run Mrs. Kennedy's sawmill. I suppose this fellow must have been Mr. Kennedy. Well, well, I've caught myself the ringleaders - this should be good for a promotion!" He laughed again, a short, sharp sound. It made Ashley's blood run cold with hatred.

He tried to estimate the distance between them, and wondered if it would take longer for the other man to pull the trigger than it would for Ashley to leap forward and knock away the gun. He was taller than the Yankee, older, and had the reach of him. He would probably come out on top in a physical fight. But the other man's weapon had Ashley at a clear disadvantage.

"I've had enough of you Southerners and your insolence," the Yankee continued, holding the pistol steadily and pointing it straight at Ashley's chest. "You think you can just do as you please, take the law into your own hands. You have no appreciation for our attempts to bring some civilization to this godforsaken place." He spit into the dirt. "Well, I'm not having any more of it. The only good Southerner is a dead one, and hanging's too dignified for you dirty Klansmen." He kicked Frank hard in the ribs, hard enough to lift him off the ground. Ashley flinched involuntarily as the limp body flopped back into the dust. "Two is better than one," the Yankee sneered, clicking back the hammer of his gun. "They won't care if I don't bring you in alive."

The length of road that stretched between them was too wide for last-minute heroics. Ashley closed his eyes and thought of the scent of magnolia blossoms under the warm sun.

The roar of the pistol sounded in his ears; at the same instant a burning pain erupted in his left shoulder. Ashley fell to his knees, choking back a cry of pain, but to his surprise the Yankee, wide-eyed with shock, crumpled to the ground in a slack heap. As footfalls sounded on the road behind him, Ashley looked anxiously toward the pistol still clutched in the dead Yankee's hand, but when the stranger spoke Ashley nearly collapsed with relief.

"This must be the night for lucky shots," Rhett said.

Kneeling down beside him, Rhett shoved his silver pistol into the waistband of his trousers and began pulling at Ashley's shirt, baring the wound. "Well, at least it's gone all the way through. You won't have to sit through having the bullet dug out." Rhett pulled off his neckpiece and looped it around his hand. "Raise your arm, like this, hold it up with the other if you have to - I know, I'm sorry, but I don't want you bleeding to death in the road." Mindful of Ashley's pained expression, he wrapped the long strip of cloth tightly under Ashley's good arm and around the wounded shoulder like a sash, knotting it fast and pressing the bloodstained robe back on top. "Mother always said you could tell a gentleman by the way he tied his cravat. Luckily this one wasn't one of my favorites. Can you stand?" Rhett asked, and Ashley nodded. "Then let's get you out of here."

"Where did you - how did you know -" Ashley gasped as Rhett pulled him to his feet, biting his lip as fresh pain jolted through his shoulder.

"My dear fellow, everyone knows. At this very moment your house is surrounded by a garrison of Yankee officers eager to crush the lawbreaking Klan under their boot heels. It's going to take some fast thinking to get you out of this, so if you come up with any brilliant ideas, don't keep them to yourself."

Rhett's black horse was very tall but Ashley managed to climb up into the saddle with only a little help. Clinging tightly to the horse's mane with his good arm, he watched as Rhett rolled the dead Yankee off the road into the brush and draped Frank's body over the back of the Yankee horse. Then Rhett swung up behind Ashley and reached around him for the other set of reins, the sinewy muscles of his arms brushing lightly against Ashley's ribs.

Ashley was keenly aware of the solid wall of Rhett's chest pressed against his back. He was terribly glad Rhett was there; the shock was starting to wear off and he was so dizzy he thought he might have tumbled right off the horse were it not for the strong arms around him holding him fast. He gritted his teeth as Rhett urged the horses into a fast trot, but the pain soon became so intense that he didn't even try to fight as the darkness came down over him and he fainted.

***

"Out of the question! This man needs immediate medical attention!" Doctor Meade's anxious words rang in his ears as Ashley slowly came back to consciousness.

"I agree, doctor, but it will be more easily done in a safer place. And you'll need more light than this. Either way, there's not much more you can do for him without your medical bag." Even in his groggy state, Ashley could hear the impatience simmering beneath Rhett's slow Charlestonian drawl.

Ashley opened his eyes. He was lying next to a window in a patch of moonlight in the front parlor of the burned-out shell of the Sullivan plantation. Dr. Meade, his face anxious, bent low over Ashley's shoulder. Behind the doctor, Hugh Elsing was tearing one of the white robes into long strips with a knife. Ashley could see Henry Hamilton and Mr. Merriweather standing off to the left, near the old stone chimney. When he looked to his right, he could see where Rhett stood alone, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed, watching the others.

"I don't care, I'm not going to that place," Dr. Meade said shortly. "For a man of my stature to be -"

"Your stature ought to increase by at least three inches once the Yankees have stretched your neck from the gallows," Rhett interrupted. "All of your homes are being watched. We'll go in through the back way, along the railroad tracks - no one will see. It's your only chance at an alibi even the Yankees can't pick apart."

"He's right," Henry Hamilton said suddenly. "You know he's right. If we're not going to go to Texas, we've got to go with Captain Butler."

Dr. Meade opened his mouth and then closed it again like a fish on dry land. Hugh Elsing said nothing, just continued to tear up strips of cloth. Grandpa Merriweather looked at his shoes. "Fine," said the doctor. "I'll not leave Ashley to die. If the rest of you are hell bent on going I suppose I must be there to make sure you maintain at least some level of respectability."

"If you're done tearing those bandages, Mr. Elsing, let's get Mr. Wilkes fixed up and get moving," Rhett said. "We haven't got all night. Give me your robes - I'll stuff them up the chimney; someone can come back to burn them later." He motioned to two bodies lying on the floor that Ashley hadn't noticed before. "And let's get these fellows into the cellar, in case anyone else comes through here."

Dr. Meade turned back to Ashley, fumbling at his shoulder again. Hugh came over with the makeshift bandages and they began to wrap Ashley's wound.

"Where are we going?" Ashley croaked. He was terribly thirsty.

"I'm taking you to Belle's," Rhett said, "since you didn't offer up any brilliant ideas while you were unconscious."

"Oh," Ashley said. "That's all right." Then he tried to sit up, but the room pitched wildly and he fainted again.


End file.
